In our circumstance and course of thought,
'Tis heavy with Helle!
Never more than now is the time for his revenge.
Jets, take it to Flower for the purging of his soul,
For he is fit and seasoned for his passage?
Aye – then:
Up, sticks, and clap bomb thou ne’re a more horrid rent:
Crash the net while Fleury is drunk in self-love, and then in his rage;
Recall ye, to fuel thy temper,
The ghastly visage of Newton – how apt in representation,
Of the incestuous pleasure of a Vegas pre-game show;
Or their mob blithely cheering naught they understand,
Or some act that has no relish of salvation in it.
Then trip them, Jets! So that their forwards’ skateblades
May waggle at heaven, as they cry out after the forecheck!
For we have seen the VGK enterprise,
And now have been tested of resolve.
While their souls may be as damned and black
As hell, wheretofore they issue:
Fear not! Skate and score, and score, and win.
My suffering at our losses stays,
But this physic will prolong our winning ways.
